


Mostly Harmless, My Eema

by feldman



Category: Babylon 5, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Farscape, Firefly, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Young Frankenstein (1974)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:07:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feldman/pseuds/feldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>3rd place, 2004 Sparky Awards: Crossover</p></blockquote>





	Mostly Harmless, My Eema

"Three breasts, huh?"

He looks soulfully at her with one pair of eyes, while those on his second head peer equally intently down her bodice. "She was magnificent. But a President has to keep better company, you understand. Would you care for another drink?"

"Sure." She leans her cleavage closer to the second pair of eyes and rests her hand on his knee. "So what are you the President of?"

He lifts an eyebrow and slides her hand further up his leg. "Everything."

 

 _"Probability decreasing to one in four googol and twelve."_

 

"Is everything ready for the transference?"

Sikozu glances at the iron-hasped wooden door at the top of the stone staircase, shaking under the pounding of a mob of John Crichtons. She nods. Harvey lays on the table like a rag doll made of vinyl.

Scorpius dons a head piece that connects him to Harvey through a dungeon full of sparking machinery. "Once I equalize the imbalance in his cerebrospinal fluid...why, he'll be right as rain."

Sikozu yells over the din of electricity, thunder and riot, "How long?"

"We must remain connected for 15 microts. No more. No less."

 

 _"Probability decreasing to one in seven zillion, six million and fifty-two."_

 

"Our experience has been that monarchy is often a system for legitimizing cruelty. It tends to perpetuate and glorify itself at the expense of those it is supposed to govern."

"Ever had a harem?"

"I am...still in my studies...my work with Ambassador Delenn does not leave time to pursue...I have not yet engaged in procreative relations." Lenier turns to his other companion. "Ambassador Molari, perhaps you could explain to me what is so amusing to the Dominar?"

 

 _"Probability decreasing to one in 46 billion and three."_

 

"Frell!"

"For a battle-scarred warrior, you're being awfully wimpy about this."

"My eyes are watering."

"And a pretty dark shade of blue. Since we're done tweezing I'll show you the fun part." She pulls a drawer out of a large tackle box on the bureau and rummages through flat cartridges of powders and paints. "They say that lilac is the new cocoa, which is clearly a lie. But a brunette has more leeway with color than a blonde."

Aeryn furrows her elegantly shaped brows. "It's so sparkly."

"Dewy."

"Dewy?"

Buffy nods soberly. "Sparkly is kids' stuff. You and I are in dewyland."

"Okay..."

 

 _"Probability decreasing to one in three million, three hundred thirty-three thousand, three hundred and seven."_

 

John scrawls furiously on his napkin.

"I tell you, that Sicilian Bistro Bonanza was a glory to behold." Mal slumps in the booth and surreptitiously undoes a button on his pants. Zoe smirks.

D'Argo stacks his demitasse cups into a tower. "Did she add all my espressos? What's my share of the tip?"

John sweeps away dinnerware and arcs of equations flow onto the red check tablecloth. "I'm not figuring the tip, I'm getting us out of here."

"Well hell, since we're beating the check...Sir?"

Mal nods.

Zoe orders more tiramisu.

 

 _"Probability decreasing to one in four thousand and two."_

 

Crais stands tanned and naked in his quarters, hair still loose and damp from the refresher. He runs his hand over the bony stays of the black merry-widow that he found tucked in tissue paper, in a bright red box under his bed. He thinks fondly of Jool. The satin feels very nice indeed, and would probably feel even better laced around his body. He empties the rest of the box onto the bed.

He hums, contemplating the platform Cuban heels and the monstrous pearls gleaming in his hand.

He dares to dream.

 

 _"We've achieved one to one probability. The Drive is now offline." Pilot sips his gin and tonic and adds, "Starting now, anything you can't deal with is entirely your own problem."_

**Author's Note:**

> 3rd place, 2004 Sparky Awards: Crossover


End file.
